


What Once You Wanted

by helwolves



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bestiality, Blood, Bondage, Dark, M/M, Of the Werewolf Variety, Other, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-30
Updated: 2004-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helwolves/pseuds/helwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am not unreasonable. You helped make this Wolfsbane potion, after all, so it’s only fair that I let you help us test it out...”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Once You Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I once had vague plans to do a series of short fics where Sirius went dark side. This was written in that AU for a bestiality challenge at [**pornish_pixies**](http://pornish_pixies.livejournal.com/). Originally posted November 30, 2004.

It takes every drop of Severus Snape’s self-control to not twitch his wrists in the restraints, to not give them that satisfaction. He knows that the conjured bindings will hold fast regardless of his will. But no matter what other satisfaction they may take from him, he will not give them that. 

The floor stones grind hard against his knees and fill his frame of vision with grit-laced grey. He hears the rustle of robes, and then Black chuckling—a low, lascivious sound that makes his stomach churn.

“No, Remus,” Black growls urgently. “Not yet.” A plaintive whine echoes through the dungeon chamber. “We must attend to our guest first.”

Snape hears the clicking of long, sharp nails— _claws_ —on the stones, drawing closer. He can feel the change in the air, the looming presence of something large and full of dark magic. He withholds a snarl as the wolf snuffles its huge head between his bound and spread legs. 

The wolf rumbles deep in its chest.

“Remus, what do we say?” Black’s voice drips into Snape’s ear, so much closer now. Snape hears heavy chains clinking, a whispered spell, and the soft susurrus of fingers dragging through long, wiry fur.

The rumbling builds to a full growl, sending up the hairs along Snape’s neck. He feels the beast’s breath through his trousers, too hot and foully damp against his skin.

“You know, I’ve seen you, _Snivellus_. The way you look at him.”

Snape shivers, not at the chill of being stripped to the waist and prone on the floor of a nameless dungeon, but at the other man’s icy fingertips trailing the length of his spine. 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about him fucking you,” Black drawls. “Holding you down, growling in your ear, biting your lips until they bleed while he fucks you raw and you beg him to let you come again...”

Snape snarls—teeth clenching, the bitter taste of Black’s dragonhide gag filling his mouth.

Black laughs again, softly, maddeningly so. “Oh, come on. You’ve been wanking over my Remus since first year.” Snape jerks his head away when Black crouches beside him and presses his nose into Snape’s tangled curtain of hair. “I can _smell it_ on you,” he whispers, drawing a slow breath. “Always have done.”

The wolf whines and shuffles somewhere behind them.

“I’m a jealous man, Snape,” Black rasps, his footsteps echoing on the stones as he paces. “I don’t _like_ it when other people want to touch my things.” Snape senses Black drawing closer again, going silent for one blessed moment but crouching just there, smelling of mongrel and expensive whiskey. “However,” says Black, finally, “I am not unreasonable. You helped make this Wolfsbane potion, after all, so it’s only fair that I let you help us test it out...”

Snape can imagine the infuriating grin on Black’s face—those white teeth and high cheekbones seared into his memory, afterimages like wounds that never scarred over, remaining open and livid, staining everything he sees with green and black and leaking crimson.

And then the wolf is upon him.

Its head nudges Snape’s legs apart, more insistent now, his restraints going taut against the beast’s immense strength. When the wolf lashes out, quick and vicious as flame, its claws drag stinging paths down Snape’s back to tear at his trousers, and with one more powerful swipe the fabric shreds. The wolf pulls the tatters free with nails and teeth before dragging its tongue along all the warm new places, draping strings of sticky saliva as it laves Snape’s traitorous, half-hard cock.

Clothing rustles, metal falls to stone, and Snape hears fingers stroking fur, and flesh against flesh, damp rubbing and sliding, wet smacks and Black’s disgusting hiss of a voice, “Like that, yeah? That’s it... that’s good...” and Snape realizes perhaps too late that Black is not talking to him, but to the creature, urging it on and jerking his own cock against Snape’s thigh as the werewolf’s thick, slippery tongue begins to fuck his exposed hole.

“Go on,” Black spits, and the wolf snarls and lunges with its full weight, its huge body thrusting an impossibly thick, wet column of flesh between Snape’s spread, shaking legs. Its claws latch onto his shoulders and it growls in his ear, furious and frustrated, its acrid breath dampening his skin, its hips jerking arrhythmically until finally it finds the center of that heat and pushes once more, hard, then again, and again and again, scratching and thrusting until Snape’s voice gurgles bloody in his throat for screaming through the gag.

He can no longer even feel those claws shredding his back and shoulders when the wolf snarls and jerks, Black presumably crouching behind the beast to take his own pleasure. But then Snape senses the air crackling with magic and nearly buckles to the stones when the weight pressing him down doubles. The panting and snarling of dog and wolf crescendos and mingles, and Snape’s mind splits like his body as he feels the wolf’s prick growing inside him, filling him, trapped and tearing more and more with each jerk of its hips.

The creature’s tongue lolls onto Snape’s neck, drool spilling down his shoulder to hang in thick ropes and mix with the spattered blood.

Then the air shivers again and Snape can hear Black’s voice over the unearthly growls, swearing and coaxing the werewolf to its completion, shrieking laughter as the beast snarls and spills its hot seed over and over until that too is coagulating with the mire pooling at their feet.

The wolf withdraws its softening prick and collapses with a shuddering huff.

“ _Finite_ ,” Black says through ragged breaths, and Snape feels the control over his own limbs return in one agonizing flare. He crumples, cracking his chin on the floor, one spell ended but the restraints remaining, still cutting patterns into his wrists and legs.

On the stones beside Snape, Black sprawls on his back, his skin smeared with blood and come, long hair framing his face in dark, sweat-spiked tendrils. “Lucky for you, I’m still a generous sort of bloke, yeah?” he says, flashing perfect, pointed white teeth.

Snape’s wrists jerk hard against the bindings.

**Author's Note:**

>  _“But he did not understand the price. Mortals never do. They only see the prize, their heart’s desire, their dream . . . But the price of getting what you want, is getting what once you wanted.”_ —Neil Gaiman, _Sandman_ #19


End file.
